To be honest, there isn't much to write this week. I've been a little busy to work on anything substantial or sit and ponder thoughts worth pondering. Instead I'm in the school's clinic waiting room waiting to hear some news while wearing a paper mask.
You know, normal crap.
As some of you know who bother reading this gibberish that falls out of my head (you people do know there is porn on the internet, really porn. You can go watch right now if you want something better to do) I've been sick since December, but that's not explaining all of it. Back in '93 or '94, I picked up TB while working in a Westwood investment brokerage place cleaning offices for minimum wage. I had a 4 month old baby and independent as I thought I was there were not many opportunities for teenaged fathers. So cleaning offices between taking classes was the best thing for me even though I had an hour and half to clean 50 offices, four bathrooms, a break room and trying to make sure that everything was placed back where it was, especially the wallets and bill folds that they had "laying around" to see if I was dispensable. Funny thing was that I worked for two weeks and then got the worst cold I've ever had. I was in bed for a week and had to leave work which considered my absence a pain and still refused to pay me my wages. They called it even for "training me" even though I've knew how to vacuum and clean a house for years.
Long story short I lose a ton of weight until I weighed 120lbs, became sickly, and look like a walking corpse until I took a TB test for a TA job. I thought it was odd that I had a huge lump where they injected dead TB cells. A lump means that your body is fighting it while it going away meant that it never infected you. While most young men get puberty and muscles, my growth spurt was used to keep me alive long enough to realize that I needed I've been dying. Oddly enough, being told that I had TB meant nothing to me. To me it was like telling me that I had a bad haircut and thought, "ok, so what now?" Others around me were a bit more emotional. My father yelled at me as if I decided at this point of life to rebel again living also for kicks. In-laws were solemn and respectful as if I had been at my own wake, while my wife at the time cried her eyes out in a way that actually convinced me that she kind of loved me between the abusive behavior.
To say that I was in the dark, is saying a lot. Either way I was told what was wrong or that there was a new epidemic of TB rising in the US and that it wasn't my fault. I liked that. I like being told that something wasn't my fault for once. I was given a yearly dose of nasty pills to take and took them. It wasn't until the 6 months after my divorce when I started to pack on muscle and add a few inches to my height. I would not get control of my health really until a few years ago. Before I started to pack on weight I was basically given a free ride to eat whatever I wanted since I could not gain a pound. Funny how stress works that way. I would have to finish my degree to actually learn how to take care of myself.
Thinking about it, it was then when I stopped looking in mirrors. It's sad seeing the face of death staring back at you. I still cringe looking at any existing photos of me. As determined as I was, I was no where near as healthy as I am now which is kind of sad. In one decade to weigh 120lbs and just a few years ago to weigh 255lbs, my heaviest. While some guys had years to pack on muscle and to get physiques that made women drool I was the walking dead. While others talked about their body fat and their VO2, I was trying to learn to run again after the vein burst in my leg. If I can look back to the fittest I've been it would have to be before my shoulder tore in '07. Hmmmm…..I think I under stand my lack of self esteem.
It's kind of hard to think you're attractive when you have little control over your own body. It's almost like being branded permanently ugly. And yet, I've been in numerous relationships. I could only imagine that I developed a great personality with what little I had physically. That and a huge dose of sarcasm and humor always helps. And yet, I can see myself being ever being the object of lust. I have to say that my "game" was never taking off my shirt, but making a woman laugh her way to bed. It's funny when you are seen as different and ego wise it's crushing to think that anyone looking at you would only turn away in disgust or simply put you in the category where you have no chance to sleep with them. If anything I've worked my ass into the category after so much work. Thinking about it I can see how I've became most of the women's guilty pleasures. Never really the guy on the pitching mound, but the one on the bench or warming up. The other guy.
Come to think of it, my entire dating history has been coffee and hanging out. I don't think I've ever had a real date. Odd.
Sitting now in the room, I start looking around and start poking my nose in the regular places. Rubber gloves, giant cotton swabs, and the large container of condoms. It's been a while since I had to get any. My encounters have been sparse and more of a surprise lately, almost as if it was already decided that sex was to be had and I was invited at the last moment. Still I like looking through them. They're fun to pass on after a conversation, usually with a comment on how I care about their health and telling them not to use them up in the same place. Always a laugh. I pull out a couple of flavored ones and know I'm making a face. Banana? Really? Who the hell is gutsy enough to pull out a banana flavored condom and have the bravado to sport it. I'd think you'd be laughed out of the room. Then with some thought I realize that I would. My bravado has always been humor based, especially to open up the conversation to sex. You start out with, "Hey, wanna see something surreal", and after a few laughs the topic is explored and brought up and then I blink and I'm in someone's thighs wondering how I got here.
Not enough to stop sex usually, but enough to make me wonder how I got here. I get these moments a lot. Unless it's a steady girlfriend, and those I can count on one hand, I've never been really instigated sex. It's more of a laughing on the couch moment and then clothes are torn off. As if I was tempting enough for a woman to "make a stupid mistake". Hmmmmm….I've been a lot of women's "stupid mistake" and very few desires. Yea, did I mention my ego is tiny? Most guys worry about a tiny wiener. I worry about making that jump from friends hanging out to loved ones. Yea….wow. A lot to think about.
So why the hell am I thinking about this when I'm in a clinic? Why am I wearing a mask? Why am I going to see a doctor when I hate going to see them and rather self medicate and even perform minor surgery? Why the hell am I avoiding talking about why I'm here and rather talk about what bugs me? Ok, fine. I've been sick since December to now with at least three colds or flu hitting me one after the other. Since it always takes me time to recover I'm used to having to cough up a lot of phlegm. It's just one of those prices I paid to survive TB. Colds make me their bitch and I cough my lungs up every morning in the winter months with basically is 8 of them. I know I live in sunny Cali, but I'm not a creature of cold and I more than willing to never see snow again if I can have my lungs clear.
So one morning while coughing up some nasty phlegm into the white sink I stare at a lot of blood. A lot of it. More than a tablespoon. More blood than phlegm. Blood. Oddly enough, seeing that much blood you'd think I would have gone to the doctor sooner. Instead I stared at the mess in the sink and thought how pretty it looked and if I Facebooked would anyone appreciate the contours and colors. I think what bothered me the most was the tiny pink bits. I poked at them and wondered what they could be. After some time I simply coughed up all the blood I could until it stopped and then washed it all down the sink.
A fluke.
Then the next morning I cough up more. Same amount, same color and more pink bits. I've done this from Wednesday to Sunday. I decided to go in after then. I honestly hate to go to the doctor and paying out of pocket if I'm not sick. And so I show up, pay my fees to go in, get my temperature and vitals taken by the nurse who remembers me from the last time I popped my shoulder back in (they weren't going to do it and I wasn't going to ride the bus with a shoulder out of socket), and told that I need to give them a blood test and an X ray. After a day of all that I ask them if I'm contagious in which they say they do not think so behind paper masks. So for three days I wait until I get my results in the morning.
And so, I think of my mortality for three days. It's very different from the last time when I thought I was going to bleed to death. You don't have time to grok the details. You simply make peace as quickly as possible and wait to die. Here I'm waiting to see how bad things are. Am I losing weight because body is using up everything to fight it off? Am I going to be sick, constantly coughing up crap and swigging cough syrup like gin? Am I going to have to be taken away to be quarantined? Am I going to be taking pills for another year or are things worse? If it's worse, how long will I have? Good years? Can I still be active? Will I be bedridden or can I go outside. Will I look like a cadaver again? Will I tell people? Can I hide it? What do I do if I can't hide it anymore?
Yea, that kind of stuff. Thinking of this stuff is bad for your health. So I only given it enough thought to know that I'll cross that bridge when I come to it and there is no point thinking about it. And so I didn't. It's that easy. I mean, one you realize you're going to die there isn't much to worry about. I mean, I got to go one day, right? So why worry about that. Just do what I can and everything will handle itself. Live free or die trying and all that. The last thing I needed was stress because that stuff can kill you.
The worst part about being dead is that you're not alive anymore. So why not live it up?
And then, it hit me. Or actually I got hit with it. Seems that I'm invited to an event when I get to dress up and look swanky. Fun. Then I was asked if there was someone I'd like to take along and I thought no. It bothered me. The thought bothered me. It made me wonder why I was thinking about this over anything else. It's funny, I completely gave up wondering if I was going to die soon because there was nothing I can do about it and there was no point is worrying about it, but ask me if I'd like to take someone to an event and I'm stumped. I thought about it. Do I know anyone well enough to say invite them? I've been so focused on finishing school and now getting my life back on track that I completely gone Hermit. But, I talk to women all the time and yet no one single, worth getting to know better or know well enough to ask them to dress up and come with. The irony was rich. I'm more worried on asking someone than facing my mortality. You live a bachelor and focus on life and you get a little spoiled. You make your own hours and you focus on what you want and you then do what you want. That is my life. I get up when I want to, eat when I want to and that's it. I stopped including anyone else since my children moved away. No responsibilities to anyone really so I simply ghost my life through.
To be honest, since the last odd encounter with a woman I've pretty much given up. I mean I stopped caring. I haven't bothered with even being socially nice outside of a small group of people who I enjoy. I bred already. Twice. So that obligation is out. I can enjoy a decent conversation with people and sure there are some people I would not mind getting to know more, but I still have that deep down fear on losing them. I mean better a friend than an angry ex. I've pretty much enjoyed my ugly phase and just not caring. I mean the only reason I cut my toe nails is that I rather not tear them out on carpet or a mat or the such. In truth, I don't think I can endure dealing with that crap again. To be honest, with a screwed up shoulder, bummy lungs, and tons of more issues I can name from the top of my head I can't see what I have to offer to someone. I don't think I can keep someone happy longer than two years. I honestly consider myself unattractive.
But then, why do I get hit on?
Fluke. Must be.
And so my biggest worry in this examination room is not that I'm sick or that the bloody lungs which stopped bleeding on Monday is a symptom of something terrible. It's if I can find a date. That. All of a sudden I'm 15 again with the cracking voice and the thought that I have to get a date for some thing and junk. Really? So sad. So I decide to tell my friend that I'll go stag and if they can find someone willing to go stag too than that's cool. If not I'll just not go and give a couple a chance to go. I'm not even going to make a joke on taking sand to a beach or taking someone else's date while I'm there. I just don't need this pressure. I'm dying! That's more then enough, right?
So the doctor walks in with his mask and we talk though paper conversing on how I'm feeling and if I'm still bleeding. I say I feel great, not mentioning my dating issues. He looks at my X rays and says that I have huge lungs and that feels like a compliment. He then tells me that I'm clean and that my blood results are ok. No infection or anything. He offers me a referral to a specialist if I keep bleeding which to this day I have not. He then offers the theory that it's was probably just my lungs irritated for so many months. I mean, who else would not cough up blood? The weight loss? All me and he recommends I lose more to get my BMI under 25. So all in all I'm in great shape. No death for me. I'm out of $55 bucks and I'm ok. See this is why I don't go to doctors. Such a waste.
I walk out and take the paper mask off, feeling stupid. Why make me more of a pariah even though it hides my ugly more. I decide to tell my fiend that I'm not seeing anyone I'd take to the event and shrug off that issue. I'll cross that bridge when I'm force to get near it.
Not now. Busy existing, if you can call it that.
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